


Run

by OzQueen



Series: babysitters100 [68]
Category: Baby-Sitters Club - Ann M. Martin
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Compliant, Family, Gen, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-22
Updated: 2018-11-22
Packaged: 2019-08-27 16:47:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16706203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OzQueen/pseuds/OzQueen
Summary: Richard makes a promise.





	Run

**Author's Note:**

> For the spontaneous ficlet challenge - just 3 days late, ugh. But done! And, I think, mostly canon compliant.

* * *

 

Richard caught the movement out of the corner of his eye — a fleeting glimpse of cotton candy-pink pajamas.

He looked up, his neck and shoulders stiff from being stationed at his desk so long.

"Mary Anne?" He kept his voice soft. The house was dark and hushed, the windows cracked open to the summer heat.

His six-year-old daughter peeked at him around the doorway, her hair curtaining over her shoulders, still rippled from the braids he'd woven for her that morning.

"What are you doing up?" he asked, glancing at the clock on his desk. It was after midnight.

Her dark eyes were wide. "I can't sleep."

"Why not?" He stood and reached for her hand. "Come on, honey, it's very late. You need your sleep."

She gripped his hand tightly on the way up the stairs.

"Did you have a bad dream?"

She shook her head, but clung tightly to his hand.

He tucked her back into bed. "Go to sleep, okay?"

"Okay," she whispered. "I'm sorry."

He kissed the top of her head and left the door ajar. He sat back at his desk and tossed his glasses onto the open pages spread in front of him, rubbing his eyes. He was tired.

He looked over his notes again, but he knew there was no point in picking up his pen again. He'd have to finish tomorrow — go into the office early, hope what he'd done was enough to get his team started on what needed to be aggressive prosecution strategy.

The top stair creaked.

Richard leaned back in his chair and listened carefully. The only sound was the steady hum of crickets in the darkness around the house.

He pushed his glasses back on and tidied his papers away into his briefcase, before he snapped his desk lamp off quietly.

The stair creaked again, and when he reached the doorway he saw Mary Anne slip back along the landing towards her bedroom.

He checked the locks again, slid the windows closed and climbed the stairs.

When he looked in on her, she was curled under the bedsheet, eyes closed. He watched her for a moment, suddenly overwhelmingly anxious about why she was awake, and why she'd sought him out only to tell him nothing about what was worrying her.

He sat on the edge of her bed and she peeked her eyes open.

"What's wrong?" he asked, reaching over to turn her reading lamp on.

She traced a finger over the ruffled edge of her pillow. "Nothing," she said.

"I want you to be honest with me," he said.

Her lower lip wobbled, but she didn't cry. She sucked in a sharp breath and let it out in one quick rush of words. "Will you ever run away to California?"

His heart turned to ice. For a moment his gaze flicked to the window, automatically looking for the light in Kristy'sbedroom, but Mary Anne's curtains were drawn against the dark.

"No," he said, as reassuringly as he possibly could, "I will never run away."

She stared at him. "Mr. Thomas did."

"I know." He glanced towards the Thomas house again, wondering what recent conversation she'd overheard, or what facts or fears she'd gleaned from Sam or Kristy, to spark such worry within her.

"Kristy said he's not coming home."

Richard nodded, his heart suddenly heavy. "Yes, that's right."

"Why not?"

"I don't know."

Mary Anne's eyes were on her hands, her fingers still tracing the pink ruffled edge of her pillow.

Richard tried to keep his voice soft, though there was a welling of panic rising in his chest. "Sweetheart," he said, "I'm not going to run away. I'm never, ever going to run away and leave you behind. Ever. I promise."

Her eyes were bright. "Cross your heart?"

"Cross my heart," he said, swiping his finger in an X over his chest.

She wiped her eyes. "I'll be really, really good, I promise —"

"Come here…" He slipped his arms under her and pulled her into his lap. She hugged him back tightly.

He kissed the top of her head. "I don't care if you're good or not," he said. "I'll love you anyway, forever and ever."

Her voice was muffled in his shirt. "Even if I'm bad?"

"Even then. I'll stay right here with you even if you're the worst little girl in the world."

"I won't be."

"I know." He kissed the top of her head again. "Mr. Thomas didn't run away because Charlie, Sam, Kristy or David Michael were bad. They're not bad. That's not why he left."

"Sam thinks it is." Her voice wavered.

"It's not. They're not bad." He looked over towards the house despairingly, gripped by the urge to run over and tell Edie what was happening, despite being sure she knew already. A new wave of panic swept over him — was she lying awake, trying to figure out how to reassure her children she'd still be there tomorrow? That it wasn't their fault Patrick had walked out?

"I just can't sleep," Mary Anne whispered.

He stretched himself out on her narrow bed, still clutching her to him. "Let's try now. I'll stay here. All right?"

She nodded and dutifully closed her eyes.

"Do you feel better?" he asked anxiously.

"You crossed your heart," she whispered, a reminder of a solemn vow as witnessed by a six-year-old.

"I did. I promise with my whole heart I'll come home to you every day. Okay?"

"Okay. I'll come home every day too."

"Thank goodness."

"I promise."

"I trust you."

She gave a heavy sigh and snuggled into his side.

Richard stared up at the ceiling, listening to his daughter's breathing even out and deepen as she fell asleep against him. He listened to the crickets singing in the yards lining Bradford Court, and he wondered about the Thomases in the house next door, and how many of them were lying awake, heartbroken and worried and guilty.

And he wondered about Patrick, too, and hoped he too was awake, and worried, and guilty. Hoped he felt the weight of broken promises upon him.

 _I hope you're suffering_ , Richard thought vehemently. _I hope you spend the rest of your life trying to run away from your own guilt, and every night you're forced to accept you've not run far enough._

He closed his eyes, and thought about his alarm clock sitting uselessly in his bedroom — the papers in his briefcase downstairs, the urgency of an early start and the case they needed to be dedicating every spare moment to.

He felt Mary Anne's gentle breathing, and remembered her relief and faith in his promise, and he knew there was no way he was going into the office the next day.

He would stay home.

He would stay home with Mary Anne.

 

* * *

 


End file.
